youth

How Sad True Sadness

There was a sadness I revered,

But never possessed,

Because there was youth

And opportunity to spare,

 

But as life ebbs,

And opportunities recede,

I know that sadness for real,

And how sad true sadness feels.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

How Sad True Sadness possibly from 2015, although it has been subject to some editing since then, including a final edit, or so it is to be hoped, which took place on the 18th of January 2019.

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The Amazing Hamilton

 

The Amazing Hamilton

 

A beautiful girl, named Hamilton B.

 

She went to the store, B. Hamilton shook.

 

Shock and awe, Hamilton could not believe it.

 

It was another, beautiful female.

 

Her name was Yuriah. They saw each other.

 

“Hello!”, said Hamilton. Much to her shock.

 

“Oh, hey!”, replied Yuriah blushing soft.

 

Two females star struck by their lovely gaze.

 

As Yuriah blush and Hamilton awe,

 

Their lips come together in strange appeal.

 

They sing and they dance all through the midnight

 

They laugh and they cry running side by side.

 

It comes to the end, the fade of their day.

 

“Yuriah, oh Yuriah, won’t you stay?”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I co-wrote this sonnet with a buddy of mine upon the request a young highschool girl. We thought, "Why not?" as we had nothing better to do anyway. 30 minutes late, this short was written.

I hope all readers enjoyed this and maybe chuckled a little.

Have a good one! :)

Youth Wave

The young ones must rise,


Before their own eyes,


Before the eyes of the nation,


Before it is too late for any action.


 

The wave of the youth like the ripples of the sea,


Should be on the move for eternity,


Why should they be afraid of anything?


The lost glory they must bring.


 

The motherland needs you now,


The motherland urges you to take the sacred vow.

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tags:

The Wild Web

 

It's amusing to watch people of all ages jaw like ornery old men. It doesn't seem to be of any concern how unlikely the theme of discussion. I've seen the sexes square off about feminism. I've seen gear heads debate the nature of their displacement. I've seen the attack ads on adolescents that aren't ready for the spotlight. The salesman in the side bar has even given me hankerings for a Hot Pocket. If unchecked these colorful cabinets of information and arguments will start to create an illusion of life. But the pixels on a TV are different than the lights in Times Square. That's why every week I pick out moments to unplug. I sit under a tree. I study its lines and limbs. For all it's age of weathered seasons, not a single bicker is heard among its branches.

 

Dreams

We reminisce about times we never had
In groomed backyards with shining skies
And romantic escapades filled with youthful ploys
Smiling faces fill these sentimental reveries
While alone we sit in old ripped jeans
And realize that these times we had
Were dreams and only dreams
Nothing more.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Hello esteemed reader

I am always looking to better my writing and thus urge anyone who reads this to let me know what they think about it

Cheers,

T.

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Youth

Youth is like honey,


Looks fresh and lively,


It is also like money,


Since nearly all strive to own it for eternity.


 

Youth means energy,


Youth means activity,


Youth means restlessness,


Youth means progress.


 

Youth can achieve almost anything,


Youth is what my heart does sing.

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tags:

Homeless

You assume that you know me,
through vacant ties.
Unstable but faithful,
we lie in lye.


My life is but a metaphor,
For bloodletting and paramours.
You tell me that I'm drowning,
but I feel fine.

 

Your quotes from Matthew, Mark and Philippians,
make me want to drink again.
Sleep in silk and vomiting-
Promises to change rattle your spine.

 

My life's becoming more heavy than some
At the age of 21.
You tell me that I'm loved,
but I feel alone.

 

Screams that seep beneath the skin,
somehow sedates the pain within.
Cursing white knuckles,
and tame less cries.

Untitled

“how beautiful is the silence of growing things
in a place full of even deader things?
the soft roots of innocent herbs
poke through the rotten flesh
and curl around the dirty bones
of forgotten ancestors
that deserved better than this.” And
all of this underneath the rubber soles
of a young girl’s Sunday shoes,
scuffed white surrounding curled baby toes.
Her world watches as she jumps from rock to rock,
lining the winding road as it leads out.
And she laughs at herself,
dark curls bouncing with her. Again she wonders,
“how blind are the sunken eyes
of those who stopped looking? the flies buzz
and run their tiny feet all over
the stiff, unfeeling organs
of ancient lovers from a different land, different time.
if they could see now, they’d just see rotting wood,
the unsightly view we condemn all our expired kind to-
maybe that’s why they stopped looking, closed their eyes.”
She smiles, and the old breeze
chills her crooked teeth, stirs her Sunday dress,
black and white against her bony knees.
And she tells herself-
“It is just his body that lingers,
falling victim to natural defamation;
his soul floats on to a truer place,
full of grander memories.”
For she cannot afford to think in any other way.

Faded blueprints

Sweeping the streets,

While blaming defeat-

On the sidewalk.

Taming my feet-

Things can only look up,

For Us.

Blissful,
As you trickle to the-

Granite door.

 

Labeled as such,

You puffed up-

Fixed my cuff.

Gravity abandons,

All of us.

Grasping what's left-

Youthful death,

Hasn't met an end-

Left to stand once more.

 

Mother, why you'd fuss?

Our rooms are cleaned at once.

Small fingerprints fade in time.

One, two, three-

Your kisses we'll keep.

Our ashes may seem-

Like sandy gold,

Smells of brimstone.

The loss of two leos and a capricorn.

 

Our corduroy vests,

Her pink satin dress-

Stained with crimson,

Not to mention shards of glass.

These will soon flush,

As we thrust through misty clouds.

We leave as we come-

Just candles in the sun.

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